


Holidays with Sherlolly

by 2babyturtles



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas gift, Domestic, Established Relationship, F/M, Fireworks, Fluff, Gift, Holidays, Inspired by Fanfiction, Love, Mary Lives, New Year's Eve, New Years, Post-Canon, Presents, Relationship(s), Sweet, Valentine's Day, proposal, romantic, simple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-18 15:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11876979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2babyturtles/pseuds/2babyturtles
Summary: A collection of one-shots about holidays with Sherlock and Molly in an established relationship.





	1. Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Holidays with Merthur](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/318003) by AlixxBlack. 



Sherlock is wearing a bowtie. _A bowtie._ His neat white shirt and black jacket are set off brightly by the crimson accessory and he looks entirely handsome, despite a rather uncomfortable grimace. The expression stands opposite his companion, although her dress matches the bowtie that sets both their faces in place.

“How long has it been, Molly?” he asks, leaning down to put his mouth close to her ear and whispering angrily.

“About twenty minutes,” she grumbles back through a plastered smile. “Do you want punch or a snack?”

He sighs and looks around the room, resigning himself to at least another hour there. “No, they’re all peppermint flavored or shaped like men.”

“Those are gingerbread men,” Molly responds, turning to look at Sherlock with a small smile. “But I have snacks in my purse.” She winks and gestures with her chin, pointing at the closet where coats and bags were placed.

With a grateful kiss against the side of her head, he places a hand on her arm and steps away, hungrier than he’d like to admit. Molly watches him go, her eyes shining and her shy lips pressed together to stifle a grin. She wraps her fingers around the glass in her hands, happy to have something to fidget with.

“You two having a good time, then?” John asks, startling her as he approaches.

“Oh, John! I am. I think he is, too, but he won’t say so.” Their eyes track Sherlock together, enjoying the sight of him sneaking biscuits from Molly’s purse. Despite his previous protests, he moves to the snack table and begins to pour himself a cup of punch. As if he hadn’t noticed before, his eyes alight on a carafe of hot chocolate and he moves to that instead. The biscuits clutched in his hand, he glances around the room again and dunks one in the drink, crunching into it with a satisfied smile.

“I think he is, too,” John responds, turning back to Molly.

“Less than an hour,” Sherlock mutters as he approaches the pair. “Hello, John. Have you left Mary somewhere?”

John turns red, tugging on his jumper as he fidgets. “She went to check on Rosie. I don’t think she much wanted to be social tonight.”

Sherlock nods knowingly, crunching into a second biscuit and taking a swig of hot chocolate. Molly smirks. As much as she enjoys a good Christmas party, she can’t pretend she wouldn’t rather be home with Sherlock instead. John leans forward, as if to share a secret with the others.

“What if we leave? Right? Go get some chips, just the four of us and Rosie?” John’s eyes are eager and Molly and Sherlock exchange a glance, the former’s pert red lips smirking a bit and her eyes telling him she already knows the answer.

“I know a place,” Sherlock responds, nodding and finishing his drink with a gulp, hissing against the heat. They follow each other to the door, retrieving their coats and donning themselves in winter clothes before stepping out the door

“Should we say goodbye?” John asks, shooting a last look at the party over his shoulder.

“Do you really think the Yard will miss us?” Molly asks, laughing. “We’re not exactly the life of the party and none of us really even work for the police.”

“Right.” John steps out the door first, heading to the sidewalk to hail a cab.

“You are,” Sherlock murmurs, pulling Molly against him and kissing her hair. “Utterly perfect.”

She laughs, turning to put her arms around his neck. “Just because I let you out of social engagements early?”

He laughs, leaning down to place his chin against her forehead. “No. Because you didn’t want to be here, either. I’ve a surprise for you.”

“For me?” She leans back, peering up at him with curious eyes.

“Of course, for you,” he responds, meeting her eyes and placing a finger under her chin to pull her face up to his for a kiss. “But it’ll have to wait until we’re back at Baker Street.”

“Ooh,” she giggles, leaning against him and whispering eagerly. “That sounds dirty, Sherlock.”

He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head, smirking. “Ms. Hooper, you are quite terrible. We could do that as well, though.” He winks as John pulls open the door to a cab he managed to track down.

The ride to the address Sherlock provides the driver isn’t long and Mary is there with Rosie by the time they arrive. The wet sidewalk glistens in the street lights and the stillness of a cold night greets them as they get out. Sherlock gawks at Mary as John pays the driver.

“Well that’s not fair at all,” he mutters, gesturing at her casual jeans and coat. “You got to go home and change first.”

Molly shivers beside him and nods. “Definitely not fair,” she laughs, “it’s freezing out here!”

John steps forward to greet Mary and Rosie with a kiss each as Sherlock opens his coat and wraps Molly against his chest. She keeps her arms crossed for a moment before reaching up on her tiptoes to slide her arms through the sleeves of the jacket. Sherlock smiled against the back of her hair, enjoying both her closeness as she backed against him and the scent of her damp hair in the drizzling London air.

“Right, then, that’s better,” Sherlock announces, stepping forward in sync with Molly’s steps. She laughs, a small giggle through her pinched smile, and orders a large basket of chips and gravy to share. Sherlock pulls his wallet out of his coat pocket to pay while John and Mary discuss what they’d like.

“What’d she think of the present?” John asks as they lean against a low wall and begin eating. Sherlock reaches a hand into the chips and feeds one to Molly before taking one for himself and responding quietly.

“Well she hasn’t gotten it yet, can’t exactly give her a- well she can’t have it before we get home.” Molly turns as best she can to look up at Sherlock’s profile. He smiles awkwardly and takes another bite.

Mary crows, shifting Rosie to her other hip. “She doesn’t know! Ooh, Molly you’re gonna love it. He’s been planning it for weeks!” Molly glances up at Sherlock again, cocking one furrowed eyebrow. Her mouth twitches, as if she wants to smile and say something and chooses more of the former.

“Oh, leave the poor couple alone,” John interrupts, swallowing the bite he’d been hoping would cool off for a while now. He crinkles up his face, feeling the heat as the bite makes its way down his throat, before opening his mouth to speak. “They certainly don’t need our advice.” He smiles at Mary, who cocks her head questioningly, a playful scoff crossing her mouth.

“And what exactly does that mean?” she bubbles, examining her husband over their baby’s head.

“Noth- Nothing I just, well- Nothing,” John stammers back, glancing between Sherlock and Mary as if one of them might rescue him. Sherlock simply shrugs and returns to the nearly empty basket of chips.

“Hungry?” he asks Molly, who is chewing a rather large mouthful.

“Starving,” she replies around the bite, laughing again when she can’t quite make sense. She swallows hard and repeats herself. “I’m bloody starving. And I’d rather like my surprise. Is it alright if we head back? It’s been lovely seeing you both.” She slips out of Sherlock’s coat to give Molly and John hugs, kissing Rosie’s forehead as Sherlock watches with a small smile and says his own goodbyes.

“He’s a changed man, that one,” Mary mumbles as Sherlock and Molly grasp hands and move towards the street for another cab.

“Not a changed one,” John responds. “That’s always been inside him. He just needed a certain pathologist, I suppose.” He smiles at his wife and puts an arm around her, leading her up the road the other way, towards their home together. “Much as I needed an assassin.”

“Former assassin,” she corrects.

“Former assassin.”

The shining black door of 221B, complete with its bold white letters and gleaming knocker, is a familiar sight to Sherlock and Molly. Since Molly moved in, they’ve hardly at time to rest, with case after case piling on their workload. It seems that even murderers find themselves caught in the “holiday rush.”

Sherlock hands the driver a few notes as Molly steps onto the sidewalk. She’d taken off her heels during the ride and her soft bare feet pad gently against the concrete. In one hand, she is clutching her shoes and in the other she holds up the bottom of her glittering red dress. The night lights glint fantastically off her shape, emphasizing the curves of her hips. The sweetheart neckline adds fullness to her breasts and the way she is wearing her hair, pinned into a delicate bun, seems to elongate her neck. Sherlock climbs out of the cab and stops, mesmerized by her figure.

“You are,” he murmurs gently, as if his voice is made of the night air his breath forms fog in. “Utterly perfect.”

“Yes,” she smirks, kissing him gently and blushing. “You said that already.”

“Yes,” he replies, pulling her against him close enough that her stomach tenses longingly. “But I really do mean it. Shall we go upstairs? You do have a gift waiting.”

“Two gifts,” she reminds him, smirking devilishly. “You added one.”

“Ah, yes. But _that’s_ not something I can wrap for you. Although, I think you’ll be disappointed to discover I couldn’t wrap either gift.” He slides one hand down her shoulder and she closes her eyes, enjoying the sensation. With a gentle kiss on her forehead and a soft smile, he leads her to the flat, opening the door with one hand and allowing her to push it shut behind them.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly shouts from the first landing as she follows Sherlock around the turn in the stairs and the landlady emerges at the bottom.

She laughs dastardly, much as she often does when she sees the couple together. “Welcome home, dearie. Merry Christmas.” More than a little tipsy, Mrs. Hudson responds to the voices of men in her own flat and returns with a cheerful bicker. “I’m coming, I’m coming, no need to get so worked up waiting for me.”

Coming to a stop at the top of the stairs, Sherlock faces Molly towards himself, blocking the door handle. “Molly,” he begins, an excited nervousness bubbling in his voice and posture. “I’ve never got a gift for anyone before, except a few knickknacks for the Watsons and John always told me what to get. In this case, I have quite entirely chosen on my own, and I hope that you will find it a friendly addition to our home in 221B.”

“All of our home,” Molly responds, putting her hands on Sherlock’s sides. “221B is yours and mine as much as it’s John’s and Mary’s and Rosie’s and Lestrade’s. I want you to know,” she interrupts herself, kissing him firmly and gazing at him with soft eyes. “That I know that. And that I’m happy here. And that- Well I love you.”

Sherlock’s smile widens, and he seems to grow, his chest swelling with a warmth he’d never known before Molly Hooper. “And I love you,” he whispers, returning the kiss. With a wicked glint in his eye, he throws open the door, causing a ruckus from inside that sounds precisely like—

“A puppy?” Molly steps inside the flat to find a small Irish setter, a green ribbon and bow tied around his neck. The small dog is in a playpen that looks suspiciously like the one Rosie used to use and Molly laughs as she greets the dog in a bout of kisses from her and licks from him. “You got us a puppy?”

Sherlock beams down at the two, admiring the way Molly focuses so much on her happiness that she doesn’t even seem to mind the way her dress might get messed from the dog. “Yes,” he says, slipping off his bow tie and sitting in his usual chair, nearest the Christmas tree.

“Oh, Sherlock,” she drags herself away from the dog and wraps her arms around him, sitting gently on his lap. She kisses him, a deep embrace that changes into something more fiery. “Oh!” she exclaims, glancing down at his lap. “Sherlock.”

With a shy smile, and grabs his hand and pulls him across the living room towards the hall. “You did have a second present,” he coos, leaving his jacket on the floor and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Funny enough, I have something for you, too.”


	2. New Years

Golden tinsel glints in Sebastian’s fur as the puppy wriggles in Molly’s arms. Fireworks burst above them, adding a display of reds and greens to the wintry sky. Molly sits across from Mary at one of the tables outside Speedy’s, watching as John teaches Sherlock how to have a sparkler war.

“No, you can’t go for the face, Sherlock, that’s dangerous,” John explains, his voice dripping with exasperation.

“We’re trying to hit each other with sticks shooting flaming bits of burning metal and you are trying to say there’s rules?” Sherlock asks, sidestepping to avoid John’s swing.

“No, we’re not actually supposed to hit each other, are we?” Their conversation goes on and Mary laughs heartily, bouncing Rosie on her knee.

“Do you think they’d be upset if I jumped in?” she asks, winking at Molly who smiles in response.

She glances up again at Sherlock, wondering where he learned his hand-to-hand combat skills. “I think you’d beat John, but Sherlock would put up a fight,” she says.

Mary turns to look her in the face, a sly smile creeping across her mouth. “Right, but in the end?”

“Alright, you’d win.” Molly’s smile feels involuntary, a happiness she can’t control as she watches her loved ones. “Do you know where Greg is?”

Mary pulls her phone from her pocket. “No,” she says, frowning at her screen. “It’s nearly midnight, hasn’t he got off yet? John,” she raises her voice. Sherlock takes advantage of the distraction and manages to poke a burning hole through John’s jumper.

“Eh, it’s alright,” he says, pulling it off over his head and adjusting his undershirt. “Your mum gave it to me anyway.”

“ _My_ mum? Why did my mum give you anything?” Sherlock follows John to the table and sits beside Mary, reaching a hand out to pet Sebastian.

“Oh, your mum loves me. What were you going on about, Mary?” John pulls his coat on and turns to look at his wife, who raises an eyebrow at him. He smiles innocently and she repeats Molly’s question.

“Do you know where Greg is?”

“Ah, right. I think…” he pulls his own phone out and glances down at it.

“He’s on a date,” Sherlock interrupts, looking down at his watch.

John stares at him while Molly and Mary both smirk, exchanging a playful glance. “How could you possibly know that?”

“He hesitated when you asked him to come and when we saw him earlier today he’d shaven, done his hair, and was wearing new clothes. He was planning to work late, said so himself, but he didn’t exactly look dressed for a night at the office. Means he had plans afterwards. Plans alone or with friends wouldn’t require such an outfit and plans with us hardly would either, plus he’s not here so that clearly wasn’t the plan. But it’s New Year, a romantic enough holiday, and a sure way to get a kiss from someone. A couple of drinks, the light of the fireworks, it’s a perfect setup for a man like Greg who’s not really going to get anywhere on his looks. So with a sense of humor, a good outfit, and the right ambience, _Greg_ is hoping to get lucky.” He hardly looks up from his watch as John narrows his eyes and Molly just smiles, staring up at him like he’s simply the best thing she’d seen.

Mary laughs again. “Well,” she muses, “I suppose I should have asked you instead.”

“What’s got you so fascinated with your watch?” Molly murmurs, leaning forward to peer at it with him. Sebastian continues to wriggle, clearly excited by the scents of chips and coffee stains on the diner’s table.

“The time,” Sherlock responds, finally looking up at her. His blue-green eyes bore into hers and he smiles, enjoying the sight. “You are beautiful, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t he?” she teases, holding up Sebastian for closer inspection. “I thought he was a mutt at first but I think you’re right either way, he really is beautiful.”

Sherlock raises an eyebrow and cocks his head. John and Mary are engaged in conversation now and he ignores them, leaning forward to press his lips to her ear. “No, my dear,” he whispers, tickling her neck with his breath. “You.”

She smiles, pressing her cheek against his temple and blushing. “Oh,” she whispers simply.

“In any case, my watch has stopped,” he continues, returning to his regular seat and peering at his wrist again. He seems utterly focused and this time Mary notices.

“Well, we’ll know when it’s midnight won’t we? Everyone will be shouting. Besides, we’ve all got phones.”

Sherlock shrugs his sleeve back over his watch and presses his lips together, pulling out his phone and gluing his eyes to it.. “Yes,” he mutters, raising his eyebrows in a forced smile. “I suppose that will do.”

The others glance around at each other a few times before John checks the time again, and then stands, smacking his hands on his legs. “Tea, then? Or worse? I’ve got Scotch.”

“Scotch would be lovely, dear,” Mary responds, smiling at John as he stands and bends down to kiss her forehead. “Anything for either of you?”

“Just tea for us,” Sherlock responds quickly.

“For both of you?” John checks with Molly, who nods.

“I’ve been feeling a bit sick recently. The flu,” she explains as John heads up stairs. “This is the first day in a week I haven’t had a fever! Oh no, I’m not contagious,” she adds when Mary pulls Rosie away from her instinctively.

“Haven’t you got anything, Mary?” Sherlock’s eyes are focused on his phone and his tone is stiff.

“For…? For a flu?” She peers at him with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, you’ve had the flu. Got anything?” Molly turns her focus to Sherlock, her eyebrows knitted together. She starts to form a question before Sherlock interrupts. “Anything, Mary? You could go look.”

“But we’re at your flat,” she says, already starting to stand.

“Well, then could you check my flat?” Finally wrenching his gaze up towards her, he seems to search her face for a moment, with closed eyebrows and a small mouth. She responds with a similar look and evidently makes a decision based on what she sees because she nods a moment later.

“Yes, I’ve just the thing,” she responds, fully extricating herself from the table’s bench and taking a step towards 221B. “It’s 11:47,” she adds, throwing the comment over her shoulder.

Molly’s face crunches further but Sherlock nods, seemingly understanding. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, perfectly alright. Why wouldn’t it be alright? Everything’s alright. Are you alright? I’m alright.” He slips his phone into his pocket and steeples his fingers, thumping his elbows onto the table.

“You just- Everything- You just changed. Like that,” she snaps her fingers. Returning both hands to Sebastian, she shifts in her seat so she’s facing him and Sherlock does the same.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Molly. I’m just upset about my watch.”

“Oh,” she whispers, glancing down at wear the device is hidden. “I didn’t realize it meant so much to you. Can’t we get another one? It’s not- Well it’s not sentimental, is it?”

“Rather not,” he laughs, although his eyes are still tight. He leans forward and kisses her firmly, ignoring Sebastian’s licks and snuggles against the bottoms of their chins.

“Sherlock,” she blushes, giggling happily. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Footsteps sound on the stairs but neither John or Mary arrive. The door to 221B remains open since Mary used it and Molly tries to peer inside. Sherlock catches her chin and kisses her again. “Put the dog down,” he whispers against her smile.

“He’ll be scared of the fireworks,” she protests, checking that the leash is secure anyway.

“He’ll be fine.” Sherlock urges a hand forward and wraps it around the puppy, setting him gently on the sidewalk below them. The leash, tied around the table leg, allows him plenty of room and he promptly curls into a ball and dozes off.

Sherlock scoots forward, placing his hands on either side of Molly’s waist. She kisses him again, gasping when he suddenly hoists her off the bench and onto her feet. His strength always surprises her and she can’t pretend she doesn’t like it. She runs a hand along his sleeve, wishing she could touch his skin instead, and grants him a naughty smile. He smirks and shakes his head before sliding off the bench himself.

And onto one knee.

“Molly Hooper,” he begins, one hand finding hers and the other pulling a velvet box from his pocket. Molly’s free hand flies to her mouth and tears spring to her eyes. “I have known you for a long time, and I generally don’t require long to really know anybody. But every day I learn about you. You have always been and will always be the one person that matters most. You, John, and Mary have had your hands full with me, and I’d like for that to continue for a very long time.”

In the street, dozens of men and women pour in from either direction, evidently having blocked traffic some time ago to allow John and Sherlock’s sparkler fight earlier. However, now each of them has a sparkler, lighting up the entire roadway with golds and reds and purples.

“You are the most beautiful and most intelligent person I have ever met, and I should love nothing more than to be your husband.” Glittering tinsel showers from above, evidently from a very eager John Watson tossing it out the window of 221B. Tears brimming in her eyes, Molly nods eagerly.

“You really are supposed to wait until I ask,” Sherlock muses. “And show you the ring, too. What if you don’t like the ring?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” she cries, throwing her arms around him. Not wanting to wait for him to stand, she bends down, kissing him repeatedly despite his attempts to simply put the ring on her finger. A simple diamond, set in a simple band, for an extraordinary couple.

“So you’ll marry me?” Sherlock laughs, pulling them both to their feet. His arms around her waist, he hoists her up with him, quite literally sweeping her off her feet. Above them, bursts of fireworks erupt and the members of the homeless network lining the street wave their sparklers.

“Happy New Year!” they shout.

Rushing from the stairs, Rosie bouncing at her side, Mary runs forward to embrace them, a video camera in her hands. “Sherlock insisted,” she explains to Molly.

“Yeah, he’s a bit sentimental this one,” John adds, joining the group himself. He claps Sherlock on the back and gives him a hug. “Congratulations, mate. She’s a good one. _You’re_ a good one. And I’m happy for you both.”

Sherlock grins, too properly overwhelmed for a response. Molly is all smiles. “What of the watch?” she asks, one arm still around her husband-to-be.

“I had an alarm set,” Sherlock responds, pouting a bit. “I didn’t _want_ to spend the last few minutes of the year on my phone.”

“You didn’t,” she Molly chirps. “You spent it getting yourself a wife.”

As the street clears out and regular traffic resumes, a few angry drivers honking at those who held it up in the first place, John and Mary turn to the messed sidewalk. John stoops to clean up the tinsel and Mary helps Sebastian and Rosie upstairs.

“Sherlock, you should know something,” Molly whispers, her eyes suddenly nervous.

“What is it, Molly? Are you sick again?” His voice is tinged with anxiety and he puts one hand on each of her shoulders, bending down to peer into her face at eye-level. “Mary really might have something to help here. I just had to get them upstairs. I texted John but I had to get her to follow. Do you want us to try? Mary?” He turns to call the woman back downstairs but Molly interrupts, pulling him towards her.

“Sherlock, you really aren’t very observant,” she laughs, a note of tension still in her tone.

He glances from her nervous expression to the empty cup of soda she’d been sipping on until John brought her tea, and then to the hand she’s keeping held over her belly. “You’re not- are you- you’re-?” Molly nods, tears brimming to her eyes, both of happiness and worry.

“I’m pregnant—“  
“I’m going to be a daddy.”

“What?” she asks as he falls back to his knees and presses his forehead to her still-flat belly. He peers up at her with glowing eyes, tears on his cheeks and a wide smile crossing a face glowing with oy.

“I’m going to be a daddy.”


	3. Valentine's Day

Standing in the middle of the living room, slowly turning in place, Sherlock makes careful observations of the details of 221B. He notes particularly dusty areas, clutter, and general messiness. In particular, he notes potentially available flat surfaces. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he moves to the kitchen and does the same. Finally, he enters the bedroom he shares with Molly, and makes his final inspection.

Returning to the dining table, he leans over a scrap of paper and makes notes, quickly calculating the available space. Nodding to himself, he retrieves his phone from his pocket and dials a number he’d memorized for just such occasions. With a few weeks left, he’s certain his order will be met

“Hello, yes. I’d like to make a rather large purchase. Yes, that’s right. Delivery please, day of. 221B Baker Street. Uh-huh. Four hundred and seventy-three please, all variety. Yes. Thank you.” He clicks the phone off and smiles to himself.

The door swings open and Molly steps inside, beaming widely. “Hello, dear,” she murmurs as he shoves the note into his pocket and out of her sight.

“Hello, love,” he responds, kissing her gently. “And hello to you,” he adds, kissing her belly gently.

“That’s so weird,” she laughs, stepping away and placing her hands protectively over her stomach. “I’m not even showing yet, it just feels like you’re kissing my stomach.”

Sherlock straightens and smiles, reaching his arms out to pull her back towards him for a hug. “I’m kissing our baby.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sun is just peaking through the window when Molly wakes, showering and dressing in a haze. Sherlock rolls over, yawning, and smiles at his fiancée from his spot in bed. “Does it bother you?” he asks seriously.

“Does what bother me?” Her hands move over her hair, shaping a familiar ponytail, as she turns to look at him.

“That I don’t work like you do.” A small frown creases his face and he furrows his brows.

Molly laughs and returns to the bed, sitting beside him and pulling up her legs. “Of course not. You work hard when you have work and you make plenty of money for us. Besides,” she adds, kissing him on the forehead and softening his face. “Do you really think you’d fit in well at any normal job?”

He smiles as she returns to her feet. “Fair point,” he concedes. “Just promise me you’ll tell me if it ever does.”

“Of course, dear.” With one last kiss and a loving smile, she grabs her lab coat and steps out of the room.

Sherlock waits until he hears her complete the stairs and close the door out of the building before springing from bed. He showers quickly and dresses in a hurry, not bothering to check his appearance. Moving first to the window to ensure Molly’s really gone, he dashes down the stairs, donning his coat and scarf and hailing a cab.

“Address?” the cabby asks as Sherlock climbs in the back.

“1035 Finchley Road.”

 

* * *

 

 

Shifting her way slowly through the cafeteria, Molly checks her phone for what seems like the hundredth time. It certainly isn’t the first time she’s worked on Valentine’s Day, but it’s the first time it’s bothered her so much. She chooses a small plate of green vegetables and potatoes and a seat near the window, hoping that a view of the sunshine will brighten her mood.

“Devon’s gotten us reservations at Clos Maggiore,” a passing employee tells her friend.

The other woman gasps appreciatively. “That’s so sweet. Honey, Devon is so good to you. Mark got us a place on the Thames and I’m sure it’ll be nice, I just hope it doesn’t smell!” They laugh and walk by and Molly can’t help feeling her mood dashed again. She sighs and takes a sad mouthful of food, wishing she was just a little sadder so she didn’t have to taste it.

The ride home from work is a pitiful one. Although the city lights certainly are beautiful, she can’t help catching her eye on all the happy couples sitting in restaurant windows, gazing at each other with gooey expressions. She checks her phone again and instantly regrets it. Just one text would’ve been nice.

When the cab drops her off outside 221B, she hesitates before heading upstairs. Setting her expression firmly, she decides to ignore the holiday. This is simply another lovely night with her lovely Sherlock and it doesn’t need to be anything more than that. Making her way inside, she greets Sherlock with a smile and a kiss.

“Hello, love,” he smirks casually.

“Hello, dear.” She can’t possibly be mad when he kisses her. Really, Valentine’s Day is a silly holiday anyway.

“Have yourself a wash and then head into the bedroom, alright?” His eyes sparkle mischievously and she can’t help wondering if maybe he did plan someth—no. She won’t let herself think it.

She smiles and kisses him again. “Alright,” she whispers. “I’ll be just a second.”

When the water hits her skin, she can’t help lingering. Perhaps she’d told Sherlock she’d only be a moment but the warm water seems to wash off her anxieties and her bad day and she enjoys it too much to rush. Sherlock knocks on the door and pops his head in.

“Molly?” he calls.

“I’d hope it’s me. Were you expecting someone else?”

She can hear him laugh through the sound of the water running and smiles. “I’m hanging something up in here for when you’re done, alright? Don’t worry about it now. But when you’re done have a try at it.” Before she can respond, the door clicks shut and she’s alone again.

She’s tempted to peek but decides that she’d rather enjoy the last few minutes of her shower without worrying about whatever business Sherlock is up to tonight. When she finally does end her time in the water and shuts it off, stepping onto the mat outside the shower, she gasps. Hanging on the inside of the door is a black cocktail dress with red polka dots and a pair of red flats. She dries her hands off carefully before running her fingers across the dress’s material, a soft, satiny fabric that feels like waterfalls.

Smiling, she wraps her hair in the towel and dresses. Whatever Sherlock has planned with this dress, he can’t possibly expect her to walk around with such a plain face. She settles for putting her hair into a bun, worried about it dripping onto the new dress if she leaves it down, but adds a touch of lipstick and mascara. Comfortable, but certainly better than nothing. She’s momentarily surprised to realize that the dress and shoes fit perfectly before realizing how utterly silly that is. Of course Sherlock would be able to get an outfit for her. He could probably have one tailor-made to her measurements if he chose. Taking a steadying breath, she steps into the hall and is greeted by a rush of warm scents.

“You’ve been busy,” she breathes, looking around the room with wide eyes. Flowers in every imaginable variety adorn every flat surface in the room, including, she notices, flat surfaces that were previously covered with books or papers. The chairs have been pushed back to allow a clear space in the middle of the floor and pillows are propped on a blanket, surrounding two plates and an array of dishes. All her favorite dishes, in fact.

Chicken Marsala, macaroni and cheese, bacon-wrapped scallops, roasted asparagus, and baked potatoes are laid out on fancy dishes she didn’t know they owned. Despite the aroma of flora, the food’s smells are mouth-watering and she groans hungrily. Candles and a bottle of champagne are set on the floor nearby and she smiles as she identifies the setup as a picnic, surrounded by every imaginable flower.

“I thought that you’d prefer to stay in tonight,” Sherlock’s voice sounds from behind her. “I did say to meet me in the bedroom after your shower.” His smile is warm and soft, like he’s made of cuddles and hugs and all the things she didn’t realize she wanted so much. He wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her firmly on the lips despite the makeup there. “It’s alright,” he whispers, tickling her face with his breath. “I knew you wouldn’t.”

“Sherlock,” she starts, tears stinging her eyes. She laughs, feeling foolish and not knowing what else to say.

He blinks gently, his smile growing somehow even softer. “I know,” he murmurs, kissing her forehead lovingly. Taking her hand, he leads her to the floor and helps her sit comfortably. He allows her to serve herself before taking his own portion and pouring them each a glass of champagne.

“This is extraordinary,” she muses, glancing around the room again. “How many-“

“Four hundred and seventy-three,” he responds. “One flower for each week you’ve graced my life.”

Tears spring to her eyes again and she sniffs. “And this dinner. Where’d you go? How’d you get it all out here so fast?” She takes a bite of a scallop and closes her eyes. “It’s incredible.”

“The flowers were delivered just a few minutes after you got here,” he explains, chewing his own bite of potato. “I insisted they were timely. I made dinner myself when you were in the shower.”

“You-?” Molly stares down at the array of food in front of her and then at Sherlock. “You made all this? Yourself?”

Sherlock blushes and glances up nervously. “Is it alright? I wanted today to be special.”

“Alright? Sherlock, it’s perfect! Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this means to me.”

He smiles again, no doubt sure he knows exactly how much it means. And, of course, he probably does. “After dinner, I have one more thing to show you.”

Molly grins, leaning back and settling into the meal. She can’t help feeling giddy. The dress makes her beautiful, the meal is heavenly, and she is utterly happy. Something about the way the flickering candlelight dances across Sherlock’s face makes him seem even more vulnerable than usual, or perhaps he simply was. In either case, they seemed to talk for a long time after dinner was done and Molly can’t help feeling like everything she learns about him only makes her love him more.

“Alright,” he finally announces. “You all done? We can leave this, I’ll take care of it tomorrow. I want to show you the _grand finale._ ”

She raises her eyebrows but allows him to help her up and is rewarded with another kiss. “You’re wonderful,” she smiles.

“And you’re perfect. I should add, there is dessert in the fridge. Tiramasu and cheesecake for m’lady.” Taking her hand, he leads her back towards the bedroom. Something in his demeanor tells her he’s not planning on having his way with her just yet and she follows eagerly, interested in whatever secret he’s keeping for her.

With one last smirk over his shoulder at her, he turns the knob and pushes open the bedroom door, stepping through and to the side so she can come in behind him. Her jaw drops as she peers around the room and this time the tears manage to find their way down her cheeks. The room is almost the same, except that in one corner a soft green bassinet and mobile sits where the dresser was. A variety of baby toys are placed against the wall, all of which are marketed for their ability to foster intelligence in children. Their small bookcase has several new additions, including a few which would be much too high a reading level for any baby but a Holmes baby. In fact, many of the toys and objects in the room seem suited to the genius baby they’re expecting.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he breathes beside her, apparently as moved by the display as she is despite having known about it. She turns to face him and is surprised to see tears on his face as well. Kneeling, he places his hands on her sides and gazes up at her with the most perfect gooey expression she can imagine. “Molly Hooper, this baby is going to be my world. Which is not to say, of course, that you can be replaced. You, my love, are my universe.”

“That’s rather perfect,” she laughs, placing a hand on her belly. “The universe is always expanding, after all.”

Sherlock stares at her for a moment before bursting into laughter and standing, hugging her tightly to his chest.

“I love you, darling,” he murmurs against her hair.

“I love you, too, dear.” She leans up and kisses him, a rather wet affair considering their tears. Smiling, she leans back again. “You said cheesecake _and_ tiramisu?”

Sherlock laughs, clutching her against him again. “Anything for the baby.”


End file.
